


Un angelo in vesti della morte

by myheartsegg



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen, Vague descriptions of the characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myheartsegg/pseuds/myheartsegg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was an angel in the guise of death. And yet with every death he wrought, a hundred more lived again. And so in hushed whispers they spoke of him: Angelo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Un angelo in vesti della morte

**Un angelo in vesti della morte**

(An angel in the guise of death)

* * *

In hushed whispers they spoke of him: Angelo - An angel.

Angel of either the good or the bad, no one could quite determine, seeing as he was both an Angel of Death and an Angel under God's service.

On his collar bone, he possessed blazing orange wings of fire that stood out in contrast to his pale ivory skin and the black outfit that he always wore.

Truly, he was intimidating to the point of stilling all thoughts.

Those who were saved by him said that he was beautiful; his face was said to be so angelic that it would forever be seared into your mind and you would never be able to capture it in any other way than in memory _._

Of every artist that tried to draw him, they would always destroy their works with frustrated screams of " _It's not right!_ "

The one part of him that they could never quite capture were his eyes: the eyes that could pierce you with a sort of calm and love that no other could posses. Some said that it was brown, like the fresh dirt stained in morning dew, and others claimed it to be the sunset's rival.

His image was something that people supposed was a work of God and no one was allowed to take that away from him in any other form. There were to be no impersonations and no explanations to his work of beauty.

Whether on paper or in person, no one could quite match his presence.

It was all-encompassing and palpable; warm and inviting; yet so cold that you felt fragile under its touch.

If you were sentenced to death by his hands, there was no praying to God, for God had already sent the angel of death to take you away.

And take you away he did.

In the air, leaving searing waves of heat trailing after him, he blazed an intimidating orange with dual wings of flame.

It was said that Angelo possessed two wings that described his nature. One wing of flame was a softer, lighter orange that was warm to the touch and soft like the creator's embrace. The other wing was a darker, clearer orange, a hard feeling in the way it burned and seared much like the creator's wrath.

Yet both were said to have equal power. Both in perfect balance between the love and the anger of God's touch on humanity.

And so they followed. Men and women and children in hordes came to him. They flocked to him for healing, for protection, for the chance to start anew and to become purer in the sense of the word.

For this angel made you feel accepted. Accepted and loved unconditionally no matter the past sins; as long as you were willing to turn away from  _that_ life forever.

And there was no one that  _would_ want to return – he made sure of it.

Before you could even  _think_  of turning away, he had reeled you in with that smile, those eyes – that love. Most had not heard his voice and many had not touched him at all.

But he led; led with compassion in his expression and confidence in his actions. Angelo was untouchable.

However, in the rumors spread about the dew of new morning, there supposedly rose from the early crowd, a group that became his messengers: Angelo's Guardians.

Guardians the mass called them, as guards they were. Day and night, they left not his side – only disappearing from his presence when he dismissed them with a kind word, an uncaring flick of the wrist or a sharp yet curt nod.

The Guardians worked alongside Angelo in ridding Italy of its darker corners, and through them Angelo talked. The Angel in black and orange and brown never opened his mouth, but each Guardian would look to him and turn back with an answer on his or her lips.

They were his, and it was undetermined how they were selected to stand by his side and fight for what was just. Some speculated that you had to be strong. (The Guardians were strong – strong enough to handle Angelo's work for him, but whenever one of them had apprehended a villain, Angelo would appear and look at them sadly before letting his wings  _blaze_.)

And so came about the legend of Decimo.

"Decimo" because of Angelo's flames. When you were condemned to sin, you would hear him, and he would whisper before your grave as you stood, "X burner".

X, the Roman numeral for ten – and ten, as in the Ten Commandments. The legend went that if you had committed all ten deadly sins, Angelo would come for you, as God would have given his last parting words through the Angel of Death's mouth. He would burn away all your sins and through death by Angelo's fire, you would return to God.

The people began to wonder then, if the Guardians too had flames, why had they not taken a soul back to God? With all of them, surely the sin in Italy would have ended a long time ago.

The message was made clear when a man of distinct evilness came to encounter the Guardians' wrath. Through the chaos that ensued and the killing intent traded, Angelo appeared before his guards and spoke for the first time for everyone's ears to hear.

He said to them, "Your hands are not meant to be stained red; stand down."

In stiff silence, yet with not a second of hesitation, each Guardian had backed off and kneeled, attending to Angelo's wishes.

That day, Italy's sky was dyed a dark red-orange with flames.

Since the Day of Fire – as the general populace called it – the mafia came to doubt Angelo's existence; never once had Angelo spoken the Lord's name, and only a monster could have taken  _Him_  down.

But the people of Italy disregarded that. He was their saviour, and he was their ruin. It seemed that the mysterious man – though some would vehemently deny he was but a man – had the power to run the country; perhaps more.

And just when the mafia – working under the silence of the Ormertà – had prepared to launch a full scale war against Angelo, the man cloaked in black and flashing orange and warm brown hues was gone.

There began the urban legend of Angelo; the angel of neither good nor bad, seeing as he was an Angel of Death and an Angel under God's service.

So for years they spoke of him in hushed whispers: Angelo - An angel.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope all the code names were obvious! In case they weren't:
> 
> Angelo = Tsuna (he has a tattoo of flaming wings on his collarbone btw)
> 
> The Guardians = Yamamoto, Gokudera, Ryohei, Lambo, Hibari, Mukuro, Chrome (Imagine all of them TYL)
> 
> Man of distinct evilness/Him = Reborn (I know he's not actually that bad, but with Reborn gone, the power of the mafia drops greatly)


End file.
